


The Horse Thief

by supercarXS



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Horses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:17:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercarXS/pseuds/supercarXS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Booker DeWitt's done just about everything... Why not add horse theft to the list?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Horse Thief

**Author's Note:**

> *This story takes place post-Bioshock Infinite, but doesn't really give up any spoilers. It occurs in a universe in which Anna and Booker exist in peace. *
> 
> This is written in honor of my beautiful horse, Adam, who passed away late December 2012. Miss ya, big guy, and hope to see you in Heaven someday :')
> 
> Anyway, enjoy, and don't be afraid to let me know what you think! ^_^

**THE HORSE THIEF**

_“There's nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse.” – Ronald Reagan_

Booker DeWitt just couldn’t understand his daughter’s fascination with horses. To him, they were just another machine, existing for one purpose and one purpose only: relieving humans of manual labor. He did not, for one moment, stop to think that they could be considered _beautiful_ , and much less a viable companion. He just couldn’t imagine befriending a horse as one would a dog.

On the days when he couldn’t find a nanny to watch his six-year-old daughter, Booker would have to take her to his office and hope that his duties wouldn’t involve leaving the office that day. She’d sit on the steps outside the door overlooking the streets, a wistful look on her face as she observed the horses walking through about under the direction of bored humans at the reins. Booker kept the door open so he could keep an eye on her as she stared out over the bustling roads. Every once and a while, she would gasp, and point, and say, “Daddy, look at that one!” And he would look up from whatever he was doing and try to identify the animal she was gesturing towards. Even if he couldn’t, he’d say, “Very nice.”

The truth was they all looked the same to him. The high-stepping Saddlebred, the ambling Clydesdale, the plodding quarter horse – he couldn’t tell them apart. They were machines made of flesh and blood. They existed purely for work, and the different breeds made no more difference to him than an automobile painted white instead of black.

“Daddy,” his daughter said to him one day, as she was sitting in her usual spot and watching the multicolor array of horses and automobiles alike trudging along through the streets. “Daddy, can we buy a horse?”

Booker didn’t even look up. “You know we can’t afford that,” he said tersely.

And out of the corner of his eye, in the very edges of his peripheral vision, he saw his daughter’s shoulders sag. Guilt struck through him and he took in a deep breath.

“Maybe someday, Anna.”

Anna perked up at that, and she bounced a little bit at the thought of owning her own horse, because in her eyes, ‘maybe’ was just another word for ‘yes.’

* * *

 

Booker had seen mechanized horses once. He couldn’t remember where; in fact, he wasn’t sure he truly remembered seeing them at all. Perhaps it was just an image that he’d dreamt up one night in an alcohol-induced stupor. Maybe he’d read something somewhere, or maybe he’d seen a concept illustration in a periodical. The image he had in his brain was faint, yet very real, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he’d encountered a stallion made out of metal and electricity at some point in his life.

It was this strange image of horses with ornate metal plating instead of flowing manes that stuck with him as he and little Anna weaved through the streets of New York, dodging rattling carts and rickety automobiles. Very few people could afford automobiles, and Booker had decided that he hated the ones that could. The damned things were just so noisy, he thought, grimacing as another one bounced past. That was one thing that horses had going for them. They didn’t make a sound, except for the occasional snort and the high-pitched whinny that sounded oddly musical to him. 

Anna held tightly to her father’s hand, dragging him forward, oblivious to the traffic around her. “Come on, Daddy,” she said brightly, tugging on him. “Come on, it’s this way!”

And so he trudged alongside her, careful to keep his paces short as not to step on her little heels. He pushed the thought that he should be working to the back of his mind – this excursion was _his_ fault, after all. He’d made the mistake of letting little Anna look through the classified ads promoting the sale of horses over the past week. She sure was determined to find something in there, he thought. She wasn’t the best reader, and she’d be the first one to admit to that, but damn it, when she put her mind to something, it was gonna get done. So she sat for hours, searching through the papers for something, and finally, she found it: a horse auction, and one that wasn’t too far away from Daddy’s office!

Booker had sighed inwardly when she’d broken the news to him with her blue eyes bright in excitement. He knew he’d cornered himself. He had to take her to this horse auction, whether or not he wanted to. On the way out the door, he’d hastily shoved fifty dollars into his pockets, knowing that he couldn’t afford to spend it, but at the same time knowing that he was probably going to end up doing just that.

“Look at all of them, Daddy!”

Booker stopped for a moment as his feet struck the end of the cobblestone road and he found himself walking on soft, spongy grass. All around him he could see that a makeshift stable had been set up. Pens of metal and wooden bars held herds of gleaming horses, while others held more shabby-looking ones. Finely groomed mares and stallions were being led between the rows of the temporary stalls, held under heavy scrutiny by rich men and women looking to buy them. It was a busy place, and above the white noise of the auctioneers and private bargains being made, the sound of the horses could be heard. They whinnied worriedly to each other, exchanging low nickers of anxiousness at all the activity.

Anna was, quite simply, awestruck, and she didn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Her hand was still firmly gripping Booker’s but her attention was locked on the hundreds of animals before her, eyes full of wonder. Booker couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

“Well, come on,” he said, pulling lightly on Anna’s arm. “Let’s see what we can find, huh?”

Anna automatically followed her father’s lead, not really paying mind to where she was going. She was too busy looking around, mind full of possibilities. Perhaps she’d get an elegant Arabian mare, or a tough mustang stallion, or a squat and furry Shetland pony that would follow her around like a puppy! She beamed at the thoughts.

And still Booker couldn’t understand the fascination. He felt as though he were walking through a gathering of machines waiting to be traded off for work. He could, however, admire the care that some people had put into caring for their animals.

He likened it to keeping his extensive weapon collection clean – one of the few things about himself that he took pride in.

Anna suddenly darted to the side, letting go of Booker’s hand as she raced towards whatever it was that had caught her eye. Booker snapped to attention, forgetting about his weapons as he realized he couldn’t see his daughter anymore.

“Anna!” he called, but she had been swallowed up by a sea of people and horses. Booker cursed under his breath and jogged in the direction that he had seen her veer off to, frantically scanning the crowd for the gleaming dark hair of his daughter. How the hell was she able to disappear so damned fast?!

Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice. “Daddy!” she cried. “Over here, Daddy!”

Anna’s tone was not a happy one, and it sent Booker’s heart into his throat. Was she in trouble? Anger spread through his limbs. If anyone had the audacity to do so much as lay a finger on his daughter, he’d tear their goddamn hearts out while they watched…

He whirled around, searching for her, ready to fight, and finally spotted her tiny figure standing near the corner of a makeshift lean-to stall that had been hastily set up against the thick trunk of an aged tree. She looked worried. Her eyebrows almost collided on her forehead with concern. Booker picked up his pace and skidded to a halt next to her, feeling blades of grass tear under his weight.

“Anna!” he breathed. “Don’t you _ever –_ “

She cut his scolding off with a finger to her lips. “Daddy,” she whispered. “I found one.” She pointed around the corner of the lean-to. Booker followed her gesture.

Tied up by the bit of a black leather bridle and pawing the ground nervously, there stood a massive bay stallion. Booker didn’t know much about horses but he guessed that he was a Saddlebred, judging by the elegantly curved neck and slender legs. He had a gleaming black mane that fell over the right side of his neck and a tail that dragged for a good three feet on the ground behind him. Both his back legs were marked with white fur up to his ankles, and on his forehead, a single white diamond glinted forth from the dark brown coat.

For the first time in his life, Booker actually called a horse _beautiful._

It was then that he noticed the two men standing on the other side of the horse’s flank. He figured them to be the owners. They hadn’t noticed him or Anna yet, and they appeared to be deep in conversation. Bits of it drifted towards Booker’s ears.

“… good for nothin’ but glue… blind in one eye… ain’t nobody gonna wanna ride a half-blind horse…”

Booker straightened up, and before he really knew what he was saying, he said, “How much you want for him?”

The two men fell silent and peered over the horse’s withers towards him. The stallion swiveled his ears towards Booker in interest, and with a pang of sympathy Booker noticed that the eye on the left side was cloudy with blindness.

Anna, meanwhile, had run up to the horse and put her hands up. The horse nickered in surprise at the young girl’s appearance, and he flicked his ears towards her, and good as any dog, he dropped his muzzle to meet Anna’s tiny fingers.

“I asked a question,” Booker said, stepping forward, pulling the wad of cash out of his vest pocket. “How much for him?”

“Boy, you don’t want this one,” one of the men said, reaching out to give the stallion a nasty tug on the reins. The horse let out a squeal and jerked his head up in surprise and pain, his ears flat back against his neck. Anna gasped.

“Sure I do,” Booker said. “I’ll ask again. How much?”

“Fool if you bought him,” the other man said. “Bastard can’t see out of his left eye. Already sold him to the butcher.”

“Now, wait a minute,” the first man said. “Maybe he can outbid the slaughterhouse.”

 _Slaughterhouse._ The word rang in Booker’s ears, and he suddenly felt very angry. Who were these men to send what seemed like a perfectly healthy horse to die simply because he lacked sight in one eye?

“All I got’s fifty,” Booker said, waving the cash around. The two men looked at each other and shook their head.

“Butcher’s paying three times that,” one of them said. “No sale. Sorry.”

The other checked his watch. “Should be here to take him away now,” he said, and went to untie the horse. “Sorry, sir. Gonna have to go look elsewhere.”

Booker sighed heavily and reached a hand towards Anna. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe we can find another one – “

Anna whimpered. “I don’t want him to die, Daddy… I want him to be mine…”

Now, Booker wasn’t, by any means, a ‘softie.’ In fact he considered himself to be the toughest man he knew… but there was something in his daughter’s eyes that just about broke his stone-cold heart.

He HAD to get that horse for Anna…

Already in his mind, he was forming a plan. “Anna,” he said softly. “Give me a minute. I’m gonna try to work something out… will you go wait on the other side of that tree?”

Anna’s eyes brightened and she dutifully trotted off to the other side of the tree. Booker waited until he was sure she couldn’t see what he was about to do before turning back towards the bay stallion.

He was fighting the men with everything he had. The first one had a heavy grip on the reins, but somehow, the stallion managed to pull himself up onto his hind legs, his front hooves striking at the air as his mouth opened in a silent plea for his life. The other man cursed and produced a slim riding crop and laid it mercilessly over and over on the stallion’s hindquarters. The metal bit tore harshly at his mouth, ripping sensitive flesh…

Blood dribbled into the dark brown coat.

The horse screamed.

Booker jumped.

He wasn’t sure what he was aiming for, but he felt his fists come into contact with the man who held the horse’s reins. Felt hot blood spurt forth from a broken nose. The man crumpled beneath him, releasing his grip on the stallion as Booker wrestled the reins away from him.

The other man, the one with the whip, suddenly turned and brandished the thing on Booker. One, two, three times he struck him over the back of the neck. Booker cried out in pain and anger and turned his fury on the assailant.

The horse danced away, but didn’t stray far. The reins snaked over the ground.

The sickening crunch of fist meeting skull clacked through Booker’s mind as he drove the other man into the ground, ripping the whip from his grasp and tossing it out of reach. Done. He leaped backwards, fists held out in front of him, fully prepared to continue the fight, but neither man moved.

Booker had won.

He stood up, putting a hand on the back of his neck, feeling the fresh welts from the whip and grimacing.

The horse bore matching marks on his flank. He danced in place, his muscles quivering nervously, blind eye wild with worry. Booker murmured in a low tone and bent down to pick up the reins, shushing comfortingly through his teeth when the stallion balked at his grip on the bit.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya,” Booker said, and reached tentatively towards the horse. He snorted and threw his ears back, expecting to be struck again, but when Booker did nothing to threaten him, he lowered his head and blew through his nose, clearly saying to Booker that he trusted him.

Silently, slowly, Booker moved towards the tree, the horse in tow. “Anna,” he called softly, seeing the first man beginning to stir from unconsciousness. “Anna, come on. He’s ours now.”

Anna darted from around the tree, rushing towards her father and the fine horse. Her face quickly turned to horror when she saw the blood on Booker’s hands and the reddish sheen marking the horse’s chest and flank. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but Booker shushed her. “We have to go,” he said quickly, and she nodded.

The three of them moved out from behind the lean-to stall and joined the hubbub of the horse auction. The stallion obediently followed behind Booker, his head hanging low in pain, while Anna stroked his mane and whispered into his ear.  Booker knew he had to get out of there fast. Last thing he needed was for one of the men to come after him and demand him to be arrested for horse theft…

As if on cue, he heard frantic, uneven footsteps behind him. One of the men stumbled out, hand over his face, blood gushing from between his fingers.

“Stop, thief! That’s my horse!”

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Booker slid the reins up and over the horse’s head, using the same motion to catapult himself onto the stallion’s broad back, even though the horse’s shoulder was as tall as his own. “Anna!” he called, reaching down and taking a hold of his daughter’s arm. Grimacing with the weight, he helped her straddle the bay’s muscular withers. She buried both her hands into the thick mane, and Booker wrapped a protective arm around her waist.

If the horse wasn’t trained, he sure acted like he was. The massive head shot up, sensitive to Booker’s hand on the reins, ears swiveled back to receive any instruction. He barely needed cuing before he broke from the dead standstill to a fast canter. The gait was choppy at first as both Booker and the horse tried to grow used to the act of riding. Sure, Booker had ridden a horse before... it was the only way to get around… and it all came back to him easily. He settled down, still gripping Anna’s waist, and the stallion reflected his newfound balance by evening out his pace from a bouncy canter to a smooth, flowing gallop.

Anna was speaking to the horse – Booker couldn’t hear her words through the wind whistling in his ears as he steered the half-blind horse towards the road. The stallion’s ears flicked back, catching her every word, and suddenly he let loose a long, beautiful whinny and surged forward anew.

Anna laughed. “Daddy!” she said, angling her head so Booker could hear her. “Daddy, he says his name is Adam!”

“Adam,” Booker repeated, and the horse gave a little buck of happiness at the sound of his name. “Nice to meet you.”

The stallion plunged forward, picking up even more speed as his strides easily ate up the cobblestone ground beneath him. Booker leaned forward over Anna, letting Adam take as much of the reins as he needed to keep going. Anna was laughing. Booker’s face split into a grin and he began to laugh, too, out of pure joy.

He closed his eyes, hearing nothing but the wind, feeling nothing but the strength of Adam’s strides beneath him, and for a second, Booker DeWitt believed he was flying.

\- END -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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